


Coma Communication

by mintalien



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Garcia is the best mom friend ever, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love, but not really, drunk reid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-15 09:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8051692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintalien/pseuds/mintalien
Summary: Reid's got lots of feelings for Morgan and decides the best time to tell Morgan about these feelings is when he's in a coma.





	Coma Communication

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: this is probably hella medically inaccurate.

It had been a particularly long case. The whole team ran on coffee and sheer determination before another kidnapped pair of young girls plagued the small town of Aynor, Georgia. Thankfully, their hard work had paid off, and the kidnapper-turned-spree killer was apprehended before the girls ran out of oxygen in the small underground bunker he'd been keeping them in.

The team flew back to Quantico that afternoon, Hotch and JJ heading straight home to their kids while the others headed back to the BAU for paperwork. As it got later in the day, eventually it was only Reid, Morgan, and Prentiss left, all working like zombies.

Eventually Morgan leaned up from his paperwork to yawn and stretch, his neck cracking loud enough to jolt Reid out of his typical reading trance, and he glanced at his watch. “Hell, it’s almost one in the morning. We should all probably head home.”

“Yes, please.” Prentiss is already setting her nearly-finished paperwork aside and gathering her things. Morgan grins at her fondly as he gets up.

Reid yawns loudly, almost like a cat, and flips to a new set of papers. “I can keep going. You guys go ahead; have a good night.”

Morgan sets a hand on Reid’s shoulder, and doesn’t notice how he tenses and gulps quietly under the warm touch. “You’ve been up for over 30 hours straight, kid; we all have. You need some sleep.”

“I, for one, need a drink,” Prentiss counters as she passes them, and Reid’s chest tightens with affection when Morgan laughs.

This is nothing new. Reid acknowledged and accepted his not-so-platonic feelings for the other agent years ago. It was no use denying that whenever called him an endearing nickname, or teased him playfully and laughed at Reid’s embarrassed reactions, or endearingly wrapped an arm around his shoulder when they’ve all had a little too much to drink at the team’s regular after-hours celebration of a job well done, his breath got caught in his throat and his knees went weak. It didn’t take a profiler to realize that Reid was practically head over heels for the man. Thankfully, no one else on the team seems to have noticed so far, walking it off as Reid’s regular peculiar behavior.

And before you ask, no, he doesn’t plan on doing anything about his relentless feelings. Morgan clearly sees Reid as a little brother of sorts, someone to tease but also advise and protect, but on top of that he’s a bona fide ladies’ man, and Reid isn’t entirely sure he’s completely over his break up with Savannah just yet anyway. Besides, it’s just a crush. A crush he’s had for nearly five years (more specifically four years, nine months, three days, seven hours, and 13 minutes) now. It’s got to fade eventually.

(He’s been telling himself this for the past three years. It hasn’t happened yet.)

“C’mon, Pretty Boy.” Morgan knocks Reid out of his self-pitying thought process and practically pulls him out of his chair. “You can reanalyze statistics about child abductors tomorrow.”

“You think you know me so well,” Reid grumbles. The annoying thing is, Morgan does; that’s what Reid was in the middle of doing. He quickly grabs his messenger bag and lets Morgan steer him out of the bullpen to where Prentiss waits patiently by the door for them.

The air outside is crisp and chilly, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. The only sounds in the streets are Morgan laughing at something Prentiss said and the resounding _thud_ of the door shutting behind the trio. Unbeknownst to all of them, it’s the quiet before the storm.

This finally becomes apparent when a dark figure steps out from behind a parked car, his hands in his jacket pockets and his face shrouded by a baseball cap. The agents quickly notice him, and Prentiss’ hand is already twitching toward her holster.

Morgan is the first to acknowledge him. “Hey buddy, you alright? You need directions or something?”

“Agent Derek Morgan?” The man’s voice is gravelly, oddly hollow, and it sets Reid even more on edge.

It clearly bothers Morgan, too. He pauses before asking, “Who wants to know?”

The man finally looks up, and even in the dark Reid recognizes him, though it takes longer than it should. His usually-perfect memory is impaired by the lack of sleep and caffeine. They interviewed the man, Hank Langley, a week and a half ago when they were trying to track down his brother Kyle, who had recently started robbing people on the streets at gunpoint and shooting them point-blank after they’d already handed everything over. Hank Langley had insisted his brother was always troubled but would never do something like this, but when they finally confirmed Kyle was the unsub and tracked him down, he pulled a gun and aimed it straight at Reid. Morgan shot him three times with no hesitation, and he died instantly.

Reid remembered Langley still insisting they killed the wrong guy at the local precinct, and that he’d been suing the police department and the FBI for the “wrongful death.” The team, of course, thought nothing of it.

Maybe if Reid had slept more on the last case, or had more coffee when they got back to Quantico, he would have realized who the man was and what he was about to do in time to push Morgan out of the way, but all he could manage was a strangled, “Derek - !”

Langley swiftly pulled out an already-cocked pistol and fired, shooting Morgan in the chest with pinpoint accuracy. For a moment it feels like time freezes, and all Reid can focus on is the ringing in his ears and his own heart stuttering to a stop, until he’s forced back into reality as Morgan falls and the man attempt to get away. Reid barely witnesses wonderful, badass Prentiss shooting Langley twice in the leg and tackling him to the ground before he escapes.

He barely registers her saying, “Reid, call 911! Help Morgan; I’ve got this guy!”

Reid jerkily nods as he practically collapses next to Morgan, who is barely conscious but is trying to talk through a mouthful of blood nonetheless. “Shh,” Reid manages out as he tries to examine the wound as level-headed as possible. _This is just another victim,_ he forces himself to think, _not your best friend and possibly the only person you’ve ever romantically loved._

“Don’t try to speak, Morgan, I’ve got you.” Reid’s eyes well up with tears as he pulls out his phone with his free hand, the other applying pressure to the wound that’s still steadily gushing out blood. Finally he gets ahold of the operator. “Y-yes, I need an ambulance to the Behavioral Analysis Unit at FBI Headquarters immediately. An agent has been shot in the chest. I-I think it pierced his lung; he seems like he’s drowning.” As if to confirm his theory, Morgan gurgles and coughs up blood. Reid pretends not to notice how it splatters onto his shirt.

“Alright, sir, keep applying pressure and we’ll have someone there soon,” the operator says quickly.

Reid sets the phone down so he can press on the wound with both hands, struggling to keep his tears from falling onto Morgan, or for his growing hyperventilation to evolve into a full-blown panic attack. Slowly one of Morgan’s hands manages to slide up to rest on top of Reid’s own trembling ones; whether he’s trying to comfort or help him, Reid isn’t sure. Morgan’s eyes slide shut and he lets out another wet gurgle.

“Morgan, Derek, no, don’t go to sleep, stay with me,” Reid pleads. He looks around desperately. “Where’s that goddamn ambulance?!”

-

The ER is too quiet. Given, it’s nearly 3:30 in the morning, but the fact that they haven’t heard anything since Morgan was wheeled into the operating room has the whole team on edge. Prentiss has been by Reid’s side since they arrived with the ambulance, patiently putting up with his constantly jiggling leg and his thumb-twiddling. The rest of the team arrived not long after them. Garcia hadn’t even bothered to change out of her pink flamingo-printed pajamas, and if she still had makeup on, the mascara would be leaving tear tracks down her cheeks. JJ’s not much better; it looks like she threw on one of Will’s hoodies and a pair of sneakers right after getting out of bed. Even Hotch is in a T-shirt and sweatpants. It’s weird seeing them all so undone.

They’ve all barely spoken aside from Reid and Prentiss explaining what happened. Apparently Langley was at the same hospital, being operated on somewhere else; Prentiss had shot clean through an artery. For a moment Reid can’t help but hope that the man won’t make it off the table alive. He feels awful for thinking it, but if Morgan dies…

No. He can’t bring himself to finish the thought.

Finally at 3:48, after sitting impatiently in the waiting room for two hours, six minutes, and 43 seconds, the doctor who wheeled Morgan into the operating room comes out, not even bothering to change out of his blood-covered scrubs. Reid faintly realizes he hasn’t changed out of his own blood-covered shirt. Everyone is on their feet immediately.

Garcia makes it to him first, eyes wide and glistening. “Is – is he…?”

“Well, the good doctor here,” he says nodding to Reid, who can’t even force his lungs to work right now, “was correct in his assumption. The bullet shattered a rub and pierced his left lung, and blood started filling it. He was, essentially, drowning.”

“But is he okay?” Reid croaks out, on the verge of another panic attack. He’s already had two, one when he watched Morgan disappear into the operating room and another in the men’s bathroom an hour later.

“The good news is he’s in stable condition.” The team visibly relaxes, and there are audible sighs of relief. “If Dr. Reid hadn’t been there, he probably wouldn’t have made it.”

As JJ places a comforting hand on Reid’s shoulder that reminds him too much of Morgan, Rossi asks, “And the bad news?”

“Well, he suffered through a lot of trauma and blood loss. Frankly, we aren’t sure when he’s going to wake up.”

Garcia lets out a sob, but Reid barely registers it. It takes all his strength and willpower not to collapse right there. The doctor keeps talking, but it’s all white noise. His claim that Morgan would have died had Reid not been there provides little reassurance; he should have recognized the man sooner, identified the situation sooner, alerted Morgan sooner. And now there’s a chance he might not wake up, and suddenly Reid deeply regrets never mentioning his feelings to Morgan when he had the chance. Even if Morgan didn’t feel the same way, if he pushed Reid away and never wanted to speak to him again, it would figuratively crush Reid’s heart but at least he’d _know._

He’s brought back to reality when Hotch asks, “And the shooter, Langley? He was brought in shortly after Agent Morgan.”

The doctor flips through his clipboard until he finds the right chart. “D.O.A., I’m afraid.”

Some of the pressure lifts off Reid’s chest, but it’s back in an instant.

-

In light of recent events and the hard work load from the past couple days, the team gets the next day off. Reid gets up a little after 8:00 and, running on less than four hours of sleep and only three cups of coffee, hoes back to the hospital. He buys flowers from the gift shop as an afterthought. When he gets to the room, Garcia is, of course, already there, reading a gossip magazine out loud. She doesn’t even notice Reid.

“Did you do this when I was in the hospital?” Reid interrupts her report on ‘Brangelina,’ whatever that is.

Garcia startles, and grins when she sees Reid. “Sure did. You didn’t hear any of it?” He shakes his head sheepishly. “Oh. Aw. Maybe I’m wasting my lovely voice on nothing.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Reid says as he sits in the seat next to her. Morgan is still out of it, too many tubes and machines hooked up to him in unsettling ways. The beeping of the heart rate monitor and the even pumping of the machine breathing for him leaves Reid moderately relieved and comforted, but also makes his chest ache. “Recent studies have shown that neural activity increases in the brains of certain patients when they hear a loved one calling out their name or telling a memorable study. Just because I couldn’t hear anything doesn’t mean Morgan can’t.”

Garcia is quiet for a moment as she takes in this information. Reid nearly jolts out of his seat when she barks, rather loudly, “Hey, Chocolate Thunder!” No response. “Angel Face!” Nothing. “Sugar Shack!” Nada. She nudges Reid. "You try."

Reid clears his throat awkwardly and says, “Morgan?”

Zilch.

“If you don’t wake up right now, I’m going to tell you the entire history of the conventional oven.” Still nothing, but at least Garcia giggles.

After another minute of silence, she nudges him again. “You okay, kiddo?”

“I’m fine,” Reid lies automatically, and then he remembers there’s no point in lying to Garcia. “I’m not fine. He literally almost died in my arms, Garcia. If I had been quicker to recognize the guy, or, or read the situation faster – ”

Garcia cuts him off quick. “Hey, you can’t blame yourself. You heard the doc: if you hadn’t been there…” she trails off, biting her bright purple bottom lip like she can’t bring herself to finish the remark. She sighs, stands up, and tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear affectionately. “Well, I’m afraid I wasn’t granted a day off like the rest of you precious babies. I gotta go do my thing.” She pauses. “Are you going to be okay here?”

Reid has long suspected that Garcia knows his feelings for Morgan were more than just platonic. Profiler or not, she was too deceptive for her own good when it came to her boys. Whenever Morgan brought up the latest girl he went out with, or how well it was going with Savannah in the later years, Garcia would send a sad look Reid’s way. At first Reid thought he was just imagining it, but then he realized whenever Morgan’s lady-killer love life was brought up he would get quiet or look away, and during his more graphic stories would simply leave the room to get more coffee. It was honestly a miracle no one else had noticed, now that he thought about it.

Reid nods. “I’ll be fine. I think I’ll try reading something to him, too. I brought a murder mystery I thought he might like.”

Garcia smiles, almost with pity, and points to the bouquet still in his lap. “The flowers are very pretty, sugar. Lilies are his favorite, you know.”

Reid nods. That’s why he bought them. Garcia leaves with one more sad glance toward Morgan. Reid sets the flowers down on the table next to Morgan’s bed, and pulls out the murder mystery and starts reading it out loud.

He’ll have to find a better one next time. Not even a third of the way through he figures out who the unsub is, and he’s sure Morgan would, too.

-

A week passes. Reid has visited Morgan for at least two hours every day. The nurses have gotten used to him, jokingly calling him ‘Doctor.’ He’s given up reading to Morgan; reading out loud is so tediously slow compared to reading to himself that he just gets frustrated. Instead he rambles about a countless number of random subjects, somewhat hopeful that Morgan really can hear him and will come out of the coma just to tell him to slow down.

Work has been unbearably dull. They haven’t had an interesting case since the one before Morgan was shot, and Reid can tell the lack of flirting in the workplace is bothering Garcia. She even tried calling Hotch, of all people, ‘Sweet Cheeks,’ and the silent look he gave her made her stammer out an apology and scurry out of the bullpen.

Reid never realized how often he’d hear an affectionate nickname from Morgan and how easily it would raise his spirits. He misses jokingly being called ‘Pretty Boy’ and ‘Kid.’

The BAU is too quiet. He just misses Morgan.

-

After another week of no change in Morgan’s condition, Reid doesn’t stop visiting daily. Sometimes Prentiss or JJ will come with him, and half the time he shows up Garcia is already there. Once he even ran into Rossi, who was simply watching an Italian cooking show on the miniscule TV and explaining to Morgan how “they should have used some rosemary in that sauce” or “rendered their chicken fat.” But usually it’s just Reid, and he honestly prefers it that way.

“I finished today’s crossword puzzle in record time this morning,” he says conversationally, like Morgan will miraculously wake up just to chat with him about puzzles. Reid notices he’s getting stubble on his usually-shaved head, and his facial hair is becoming unruly. He forces himself to not run a hand along it. “Four minutes, 48 seconds. Prentiss is convinced I had a cheat sheet.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then reaches out and gently places a hand on Morgan’s unresponsive one. He’s taken back to the night Morgan was shot and grabbed Reid’s hand when he was applying pressure to the wound, and the memory makes him ache. “I feel like I should know how to wake you up,” he says quietly. “Which is completely illogical, I‘m well aware, but… you know me better than anyone. Better than JJ, better than Gideon, better than my mom. And I feel like it went the same way, you know?”

Another minute passes, and Reid’s voice cracks when he quietly says, “Please wake up, Morgan.” His chest aches just a little bit more, something he thought was impossible at this point, when there’s no response. The beeping of the heart rate monitor and the mechanical heaving of the breathing machine feels like a taunt. “Please.”

-

“We finally had a mildly interesting case today,” Reid tells Morgan, who’s officially been out for three weeks, easily the longest and dullest three weeks Reid can remember suffering through. And the kid remembers everything. “Two men were killed and decapitated, and their heads were missing until we found out the unsub was using them as flower pots.” He pauses. “Because of that, I thought it was kind of inappropriate to bring you flowers today. So I got you this instead.”

He pulls an incredibly soft stuffed lion out of the gift shop bag he brought and sets it down on the nearby table, which has nearly run out of room. It’s covered in flowers, cards, a slowly-deflating teddy bear balloon that Garcia brought a week ago, and a tin of cookies that Mrs. Morgan sent the day after she was informed of Morgan’s accident. Reid has called her a few times a week to keep her updated on his condition, and she usually sounds as hopeless as Reid feels but thanks him sincerely anyway. He officially has a place at the Morgan table next Thanksgiving. If Morgan can’t make it, Reid doesn’t think he’ll be able to either.

“By the way, your mom told me to tell you if you don’t wake up soon, she’ll send your sisters up here to kick your ass out of this coma,” he says with a grin. It melts into a sad smile. “Which is, of course, scientifically impossible, but… at this point I’d try anything.”

He can’t stop the next statement from tumbling out. “Garcia joked that I should kiss you, and I’m tempted. It’s worked in a multitude of fairy tales.” He catches himself and his lack of filter, and awkwardly clears his throat. “Except that’s non-consensual sexual assault, and in Sleeping Beauty’s case ended in rape and the birth of twins while she was still unconscious. Besides, I wouldn’t want my first kiss with you to be something you’re not even awake for.” A split second after it comes out, Reid promptly shuts his mouth because words need to stop coming out of it right now.

One of the nurses, Julie – petite, vivacious, flirty, exactly Morgan’s type much to Reid’s chagrin – thankfully chooses this moment to poke her head in. “You’ve got a minute until visiting hours are over, Doc. I need to check our man’s vitals,” she says with a wink. Reid blushes. She’s as deceptive as Garcia.

Reid gets up and tucks a stray lock of hair behind is ear, studying Morgan sadly. He bends down and presses a light kiss to Morgan’s forehead, then quietly whispers, “Please don’t remember this when you wake up,” before he leaves.

-

They solve another case three days later. A former preacher started kidnapping people he considered to be “sinners” and tattooing bible verses all over them before slitting their throats. His car accident a few months earlier had been the stressor, impairing the compulsive and reasoning areas of his brain. He was now incarcerated, and his fourth victim had been rescued with only a few tattoos on her arms as a traumatic reminder. It would take a long time for her to heal, physically and mentally, but she was alive, and because of this the team decides they deserve some fun.

Hotch and Rossi, of course, opt out of the post-dinner trip to a nearby club. Hotch goes home to Jack, and Rossi has a dessert date with a charming redhead. Reid attempts to break away after dinner as well, but the girls insist on him coming with.

“You’ve been so quiet lately, Spence,” JJ says as she literally pulls him toward the club entrance. “It’s not like you. You’re going to let loose tonight, and tell us a bunch of weird facts we didn’t ask for but appreciate anyway.”

The club is dark and smells like alcohol and sweat, and a bumping beat fuels the dance floor. JJ and Garcia disappear into the writhing crowd almost immediately, leaving Prentiss and Reid to snag a booth in the back after ordering drinks at the bar.

“I’ll have a double scotch; he’ll have a Fuzzy Navel,” she tells the bartender matter-of-fact.

Reid balks. “A what?”

Prentiss waves a hand dismissively. “It’s sweet and fruity. You’ll like it.”

Reid does. A lot. So much that he’s just finished his fourth and is giggling into the table, thinking of a pun involving prime numbers. Prentiss stares at him in awe as she nurses her second drink. “You having fun, Reid?” she snorts.

He nods, then frowns and shakes his head. “No. Something’s missing. This doesn’t feel right.”

“You got that right,” Garcia says as she slides into the booth with JJ, both of them slightly sweaty and trying to catch their breath. “Dancing’s just not the same without my Chocolate Adonis here to grind up on.”

“Holy shit, Reid.” JJ lifts one of his empty glasses and sniffs it. “Emily, what did you do to him?” She laughs, but there’s concern in her eyes.

“Fuzzy Nav –”

“I miss Morgan!” Reid suddenly yells, whines really, startling the rest of the team. “Y’know I haven’t been called Pretty Boy in three weeks?” He stops putting effort into holding his head up and lets it loudly fall against the table. Apparently excessive amounts of alcohol make him revert to a pre-infantile state. He could write a paper about this. “Am I not pretty anymore?” he grumbles into the wood.

Garcia gently rubs his back. “Oh, honey, of course you are.”

“It was rhetorical,” Reid slurs. He shoots back up so fast that Garcia yelps and JJ jumps in her seat. “Hey, what time is it?”

Prentiss checks her watch skeptically. “Almost 10:30, why?”

“Classic Star Trek comes on soon,” he says, getting up. “I’ve never seen it inebriated before.” He frowns. “I said that wrong. I meant I’m inebriated, not Star Trek.”

“We got it, Spence,” JJ snorts. “You sure you’re okay to go home by yourself? One of us could drive you.”

“I’ll be fine.” Reid pulls out his phone. “I’m going to Uber. And don’t worry about the driver being a potential psychopath; I’m very good at my job.” He leans in close like he’s telling a secret, and the girls stifle their laughter to do the same. “Also, I have a gun. Don’t tell my mom.” 

He lurches back and checks his phone. “They’ll be here in ten. Damn. I’m going to go play some pool in the back. Goodnight, ladies of the round table.” He salutes with the wrong hand as he staggers away, and the girls burst out laughing and order more drinks.

By the time his Uber gets there, Reid’s made $178 and three new enemies. He fumbles into the backseat of the Uber and rattles off the address of the hospital with no hesitation. When they arrive he throws a handful of random bills at the driver and says, “Wait for me, please. I’ll only be a few minutes. Listen to the radio, count to ten thousand in prime numbers, do your thing.”

It takes him approximately two minutes longer than usual to locate Morgan’s room. He bursts in and drunkenly proclaims, “Derek Morgan, I’m in love with you!”

He gets no response. “Huh, I really thought that would work.”

He plops into the closest chair rather ungracefully and rests his head on the bed, which is far comfier than Reid remembers it being. “We solved a case today. A preacher was kidnapping and ‘fixing’ sinners. It reminded me way too much of Hankel and I kind of needed you there.” He sighs. “Okay, story time, because it’s been three weeks now and I’m worried you’re never going to wake up and I need to get this off my chest.

“Remember that case on the train with Bryar all those years back? When you were irrationally protective and wanted me to teach you that magic trick in _five minutes_ because you didn’t want me to go in there?” He feels himself smiling with melancholy as he gently trails his fingers along Morgan’s nonresponsive hand. Reid’s always liked how big they are, wondered where he’d place them on Reid’s body if he ever got the opportunity to kiss him. Maybe he’d cup his cheek, or tangle it in his admittedly messy hair, or grip his hips hard enough to leave bruises to pull him closer. Reid’s always had a theory that his hands could fit all the way around his waist, his thumbs and fingertips touching symmetrically. “It was after that that my platonic feelings for you became not-so-platonic. But it was just a crush. It was manageable.”

His smile fades, and Reid laces their fingers together. But then Hankel happened, and the Dilaudid, and I was, to quote you, ‘a moody butthole sometimes,’ but you helped me through it. You listened to me, picked up the phone in the middle of the night when I had a nightmare, helped me get clean, and as far as I could tell you didn’t pity me. You were just… a good friend. The best I’ve ever had.” He pauses. “Don’t tell JJ I said that. She might revoke godfather privileges.”

He’s quiet for another long moment. He’s not sober yet, nowhere near it, but the alcohol is giving him a loose tongue and Reid can’t do anything to stop it. “But it was after all that that I realized it wasn’t just a crush. I love you, in a way far different than I love my mother, or JJ or science ,” (had Morgan been awake, he’d have laughed his perfect ass off at this,) “and the funny thing is, I didn’t even try to fight it. I didn’t exactly do anything about it, either, though. You’re still a ladies’ man, and then you had Savannah, and you were happy and that’s all that mattered. Seeing you happy.”

Reid doesn’t realize he’s started crying until tears fall onto the pristine white sheets, staining them. He releases Morgan’s hand and wipes the wetness off his face. “I’m not happy, though. I was never really happy; years of unrequited love is frankly exhausting but now it’s even worse. I want you in my life, Derek, awake and teasing and painfully out of reach. Even if I can’t have you I want you here.” He stares at Morgan for another minute, then leans in close, lips barely an inch away from his ear. Quietly, he pleads, for what must be the tenth time by now, “Please wake up, Morgan. Please,” and rests his head on the soft bedding as tears continue to fall.

He doesn’t realize he’s starting to fall asleep until the painfully cute nurse Julie gently jostles him awake. “Visiting hours are over, Doc. You can come back tomorrow, okay?” She sounds kind and quiet and Reid is very thankful for that.

“Thanks,” he rasps, voice gone and headache kicking in, “I will.”

He always does.

-

The next morning Reid is painfully hungover, and riddled with embarrassment from his love-professing speech to an unconscious man, so he opts to visit the hospital after work instead of before.

He’s nursing his third cup of ridiculously sweet coffee and pouring over paperwork when Hotch emerges from his office. “Everyone in the conference room, two minutes,” he says, and then retreats with no further explanation. Reid sighs quietly and follows the others into the conference room.

They all slide into their seats. The one to the right of Reid is still empty, and it makes his chest ache. Prentiss glances around. “Another case already?”

“I haven’t heard anything,” JJ says. Reid doubts it, too; there aren’t any gruesome crime scene photos up on the boards, or manila folders in front of their seats.

Garcia bustles into the conference room and looks around, equally confused. “Where are Agent Hotch and Agent Rossi?”

As if on cue, the two agents come in and shut the door behind them. Hotch carries the same grumpy look he usually does, but Rossi is smiling. “Good news: as of this morning, Agent Morgan regained consciousness.”

The room is filled with an array of cheers. Garcia squeals and claps her hands excitedly, and the dread and hopelessness that’s been building in the pit of Reid’s stomach over the past few weeks practically melts away. Even his headache feels like it’s fading. He can feel his lips splitting into a wide grin, and vaguely registers JJ happily clapping him on the shoulder in the same way Morgan tends to.

“He’s going to be in the hospital for another week until he fully recovers,” Hotch says, “but he can have visitors again in a few days. We don’t want to overwhelm him.”

“Though he did want us to mention, Garcia,” Rossi says lightheartedly, “next time he’s out cold please find him something more interesting to listen to than gossip magazines and romance novels.”

Reid’s stomach drops.

_Fuck._

He feels like a deer in the headlights. Morgan could _hear_ them. Hear everything. He heard Reid drunkenly profess his unrequited but undying love.

 _Maybe he doesn’t remember,_ Reid forces himself to think as Rossi and Hotch continue to update the team, but Reid can’t quite register any of their information. _Maybe he thought my confessions were the romance novels. Maybe he thought I was reading a weird choice of what Garcia likes to call ‘slash fiction’ to him._

 _You’re naïve,_ the more realistic side of his brain thinks. _You’re pathetic. You’re fucked, and not in the way you want to be._

JJ gently nudges him and he snaps out of his bullet train of thought. He faintly realizes he’s forgotten to breathe during his whole internal panic, and forces air into his lungs as subtly as possible. It’s not subtle at all. “What’s up?”

“You okay? You kind of zoned out,” she says quietly. “I figured you’d be jumping for joy right now, not looking like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He smiles weakly. “Just… trying to process all of it. Honestly I was starting to think he wasn’t going to wake up.”

JJ smiles back. “Want to come see him with me whenever he’s allowed to get visitors again?”

“Um, yeah. Maybe.”

-

He doesn’t.

Reid knows he’s being a coward. He hasn’t visited Morgan at all since he woke up, hasn’t been able to bring himself to set foot in the hospital. He doesn’t want to handle a confrontation. He doesn’t want Morgan to look at him different, think that he _has_ to explain to Reid that he doesn’t feel the same way, but hey, thanks for all the flattering stuff you told me while I was in a coma these past few weeks!

He can’t handle it.

He lets Morgan’s mother know, of course, the minute after they’re released from the conference room. Thankfully the hospital called her the moment he woke up (Reid feels stupid for not thinking that they would; she’s his mother, for God’s sake) but she thanks him profusely for keeping her updated all these weeks and promises him that he’ll be getting some cookies in the mail soon. The Thanksgiving offer, now extended to Christmas and New Year’s, as well, is still on the table, and after he lets her know he’ll think about it and says goodbye he retreats into the bathroom and has a panic attack.

But he doesn’t visit Morgan.

-

The day before Morgan is due back to the BAU, Reid is on edge. He can’t focus on his work; he spills coffee on his shirt because his hands won’t stop shaking; he accidentally snaps at Garcia when she asks a simple question about a case they did last week.

“Hey,” Garcia says, eyes narrowing, “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Cupcake, but the snappy-ness isn’t necessary.”

“You don’t have to call me all these nicknames, Garcia.” Reid can’t meet her eyes. “Morgan will be back tomorrow. You don’t have to force yourself to call me endearing names.”

Garcia stares at him for a moment, then says, “I could use your help in my tech lair real quick, Reid. Come with me?”

After a moment he nods and follows her. Once her door is closed he quickly blurts, “I’m sorry, Garcia, that was really rude of me. I, I had a bad morning; I didn’t mean to –”

“Yeah, yeah, I know you didn’t, Smartypants. Sit.” He awkwardly obeys, and Garcia slides into her own seat with casual grace that Reid could never dream of having. “Tell me what’s going on with you and my Chocolate God of Thunder.”

Ah, there’s that deer-in-the-headlights look again. “I-I don’t know what you mean –”

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” she interrupts, twiddling a pen with a ridiculous amount of feathers on the end with boredom. “I may not be a genius profiler like you, but I know my friends.” When he looks away, she continues, more softly, “Morgan said you haven’t visited him at all this week.”

He gulps. “I’ve been busy?”

“Outside of cases that took you out of the state, you visited him every day while he was still unconscious. Why don’t you want to see him while he’s finally awake? Are you going to avoid him when he comes back into work tomorrow, too?” When Reid still doesn’t elaborate, she asks, “Does this maybe have to do with something you said while he was out of it and you think he remembers?”

His head shoots up and his eyes widen. “Garcia, you’re not allowed to hack into hospital surveillance videos –”

“I didn’t,” she says matter-of-fact, “but you just confirmed my theory.” She pauses. “You told him you like him, didn’t you?” She says it quietly, and there’s pity in her eyes, and Reid has to laugh at himself.

“So you did know.”

“I had my theories.”

Reid sighs and buries his face in his hands. “You must think I’m pathetic.” His voice is wavering against his will, and it’s not helping to contradict his statement.

Garcia quickly gets up, feathered pen be damned, and wraps him up in her arms. He’s vaguely reminded of his mother and has to hug back. “Oh, sweetie pie, not at all. I carried a torch for that man for years before we figured out we were better as platonic soulmates.”

“Did the torch keep burning for nearly five years?” he asks, muffled. He feels Garcia’s sharp intake, then she relaxes and runs a hand through his hair.

“Oh, honey.” She pulls away slightly so she can meet his eyes. “What did you tell him?”

Reid tells her. He includes the useless pleading he’s been doing for weeks, and the drunken confession, all of it. By the end of it his eyes are wet and Garcia hasn’t stopped stroking his hair.

Garcia snags him a tissue from her work station and he quickly wipes his face clean as she says, “I think you should talk to him about it, Reid.” When he looks up, expression horrified like she just told him to kill a puppy, she stifles a snort and continues, “No, really. You know that man better than he knows himself –”

“It’s kind of my job as a profiler to do that –”

“– so you know if he turned you down, he would _never_ hurt you. He loves you, Reid.”

Reid sniffs and nods, and promises her mid-hug that he’d talk to Morgan first thing tomorrow.

-

He doesn’t.

He comes into work late on purpose, and heads straight to Hotch’s office to apologize for it, expecting some sort of lecture or maybe extra paperwork he could distract himself with. Hotch uselessly tells him, “Don’t worry about it,” and sends him back outside to the bullpen.

He spots Morgan by Prentiss’ desk, surrounded by the rest of the team, and God he looks amazing. He shaved his head again and cleaned up his facial hair but he looks surprisingly healthy, laughing at something that JJ said with an arm thrown around her and Garcia, but most importantly he’s _awake_ and _alive._ Garcia discreetly waves Reid over. Reid smiles awkwardly and –

– runs away. He misses Garcia’s momentarily thunderous expression, too busy high-tailing it to the lunch room and shutting the door behind him, leaning against it and heaving a sigh. Garcia’s going to kill him.

-

The rest of the day progresses like this.

Reid’s well aware that he’s being what Morgan would call ‘a little bitch,’ but that’s okay. He fully accepts his little bitch status.

He avoids all the places Morgan might show up, which, in the BAU, is pretty much… everywhere. At one point he even hides in a janitor’s closet to avoid passing him in the hallway, and as he’s pressed up against a hard shelf, attempting to keep the bristles of a broom that keeps falling on him out of his mouth, he acknowledges that this is probably his lowest point.

The only time they’re forced to be in the same room is during a new case briefing. Reid sits as far away from him as possible and attempts to avoid eye contact, but every time he glances up and his eyes are drawn to Morgan, he finds that Morgan is glaring at him, tapping his pen impatiently, and Reid’s fairly certain that Morgan is currently planning his murder and has already decided where to hide the body.

The second Hotch dismisses them, ending the meeting with “Wheels up in two hours,” Reid practically runs out and retreats into the bathroom. He turns on the sink and splashes cold water on his face, trying to calm his nerves. The peace lasts less than 20 seconds.

Morgan practically kicks the door open and bursts in to follow him, locking the door behind him without looking. “Goddammit, Spencer, stop running away from me!” In the mirror, he looks furious, chest heaving in an incredibly attractive way, and Jesus Christ, Reid, keep it in your pants.

Reid turns around slowly, feigning a neutral expression. “Heeeey, Morgan, how’re you feeling?”

“Cut the shit, kid.” Reid gulps as Morgan crowds him against the counter, chests almost touching, and has to lean back a bit, hands on the edge of the counter, just to get breathing room. “Why didn’t you visit me in the hospital?”

“I did.”

“Yeah, when I was in a coma!” Morgan exclaims, and Reid flinches. “You visited me and talked to me every damn day when I was out of it, but when I finally woke up you didn’t show up at all! What, you thought I didn’t want to see you?!”

“I – something like that,” Reid says quietly.

“Well, I fucking did!” Morgan grabs Reid by his collar and Reid quickly shuts his eyes.

 _This is it,_ he thinks. _He’s going to kick my ass. This is like high school all over again. No, he’s going to yell at me, tell me to stay away from him, shit, I’m going to have to transfer out of the BAU, I’m so fucking stupid -_

His train of thought is cut off when he feels lips pressed against his, Morgan’s beard scratching at his face is the most enticing way, and Reid has to open his eyes for a moment just to make sure he’s not imagining this before he realizes kissing with your eyes open is considered extremely awkward and closes them again, his hands clenching the counter in an attempt to ground himself. He can’t help a small moan that comes out and Morgan practically swallows it, his tongue slipping in between his lips and _curling_ around his in a way that Reid didn’t even know was possible.

Morgan’s hands drift down and clench around Reid’s waist, and Reid delights in the fact that he was right: his fingertips and thumbs almost touch, and he’s pressing hard enough that Reid will probably have bruises afterwards. Reid’s hands slide up from the counter to wrap his arms around Morgan’s shoulders, one hand cupping the back of his head to hold him closer as he kisses back fervently. Morgan practically growls, and wow, that’s something Reid didn’t know he was into, and lifts Reid up so he’s sitting on the counter and his legs wrap around Morgan’s waist.

After God knows how long they finally break away, both panting and still clutching at each other with bruising grips. So close that his lips brush against Reid’s, Morgan quietly asks, “So I wasn’t dreaming when I heard you say all those things to me?”

Reid winces and drops his head against Morgan’s shoulder, hiding his blush. “I – shit, you really did hear that, huh?”

Morgan cups his cheek, forcing him to look up. “Damn straight, Pretty Boy.” He kisses him again, this time softly and sweetly and Reid can’t help the butterflies in his stomach that make him tremble slightly. When Morgan pulls away he says, “You’re going to stop running away from me, now, right?”

“I – yes,” he says with a small smile, resting his forehead against Morgan’s.

“Good,” Morgan says, pressing closer, which Reid didn’t even think was possible, “because we have almost two hours until we have to leave and I’m gonna use that time to prove how much I love you back.”

Reid grins into the next kiss. “And afterwards?” he asks, muffled against Morgan’s mouth.

“And afterwards you’re sharing a hotel room with me and we’re gonna deal with all this ridiculous sexual tension I’ve been putting up with for five years.”

“Fuck, I love you.” Reid pulls him back in, hands cupping his cheeks and legs still around his waist.

-

They lose track of time and end up making out like teenagers in the men’s bathroom until Prentiss raps on the door and tells them to put their pants on and get to the jet.

-

As he feels Morgan discreetly slide his fingers in between Reid’s, discreetly holding his hand under the table as Rossi talks about the possibilities of multiple unsubs, Reid hides a smile and makes a reminder in his phone to order Garcia one of those muffin baskets she loves so much as a thank you gift as soon as the jet lands.

**Author's Note:**

> It probably takes longer than 4.5 weeks to heal from getting shot in the lung but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Anyway this was my first Morgan/Reid fanfic. I'm not good at cute, sappy endings but I think it turned out aight.


End file.
